Alternate Universes
by Pagebypage2467
Summary: All kinds of AU's! Each chapter is a different one. Mostly prucan, also now has USUK, Spamano, Gerita, SuFin and Edelweiss
1. Prucan: Taxi

**Hi this is my first Hetalia fic but I've read a lot and therefore I believe I'm reasonably well rounded on the subject. This one is based on an AU post by authorkurikuri on tumblr.**

**Hetalia belongs to not me. Neither does GameStop. **

Gilbert was late. Like, really late. His brother expected him home in 5 minutes to watch their nephews while he was on a date. But his manager had kept him after work for 20 minutes, reshelving games that annoying customers that had no intentions of buying them had taken out.

So Gilbert ran out of the GameStop where he spent most of his time into the pouring rain with his coat half on and his phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder, cursing and yelling apologies to Ludwig as he tried to wave down a taxi.

By the time a yellow cab pulled up to the curb where he was standing, his white hair was drenched and he was seriously considering just running to his brother's shared apartment. As he reached for the door handle, so did another hand, which unfortunately got there first. Gilbert looked up, scowling at someone he quickly realized might be one of the prettiest boys he'd ever seen. The stranger had longish blond curly hair and purple eyes hidden behind glasses that were smeared with the rain. He looked up sharply.

" I'm sorry! Was this your cab?" The blonde asked. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. Gilbert sighed. He really was very late. Too bad he had a thing for pretty men.

"Yeah but you can have it. I'll get the next one." Ludwig was gonna kill him.

"Oh no. We can share. I-I mean if that's ok with you..." He trailed off. "I mean, I'll pay of course but-"

"Alright. Whatever. Just get in the car kid. You're wetter than I am." Gilbert motioned for the stranger to get in the cab, the pair clambered awkwardly out of the rain and into the car. Shutting the door, Gilbert motioned for the cabbie to start the car. The stranger wiped soaked strands of hair out of his face and one curled comically up. He glanced at the cabbie and blanched.

"Al! Was it really necessary to come and pick me up? I can get myself home you know." So they knew each other.

"Little bro, I had to make sure you didn't get hurt, cause I'm the hero!" So they were brothers. Gilbert couldn't see it. "Who's this guy?"

"I'm the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt, who are you two?"

"I-I'm Matthew Williams and this is my twin brother Alfred Jones." The soaked man next to Gilbert said, holding out his hand to shake. "Thanks for letting me share your cab. Although really I guess it was for me." Gilbert took his wet hand and shook. The taxi driver glared as he held on for about 3 seconds more than strictly necessary.

"Watch it, dude. That's my little bro." Alfred growled, jerking the steering wheel according to Gilbert's directions. Gilbert smirked as Matthew blushed. Matthew was too cute and his brother was too fun to piss off. This would be entertaining. He slung his arm over the shy man's shoulder.

"So what kind of job's got you waiting in the rain, Mattie?" He asked. The cute blush on the guy's face was too much, Gilbert thought. "Left." He smirked at his twin in the drivers seat

"I work at IHOP." He muttered. Gilbert's eyes lit up.

"That's so awesome! I love pancakes! You should totally make me some time."

"M-maybe." Matthew looked like one of those tomatoes that Ludwig's boyfriend's brother was so fond of.

"Right on Ansel." Gilbert said to Alfred, who grit his teeth and turned. "Stop stuttering, the awesome me isn't going to bite you." The yet was left unsaid but noted by all in the taxi.

"Right. Sorry. Why were _you_ in the rain?" Matthew asked tentatively. Gilbert noticed he still hadn't removed his damp arm from around his slim shoulders.

"GameStop. Manager's a total ass and made me restock like half the store." Matthew nodded sympathetically. Gilbert could practically hear Alfred grinding his teeth. "You got any pets?"

"That was kind of random, but yeah I have a baby bear, why?"

"Woah a baby _bear?! Totally awesome! A_nyway,I was just thinking that your hair is almost the same color as a little birdie I have at home." Gilbert glanced at the drivers mirror. "The next street, turn 's what I'll call you now. Birdie. It fits you."

"Um... Merci?" Matthew mumbled.

"French huh birdie? I got a friend who's French. He's a stripper though." Gilbert didn't know if he'd ever seen a person turn that color of red. "That's it on the left, thanks Alfie. Birdie, I know a bit of French, too." Matthew raised a blonde eyebrow.

"You do?" Gilbert grinned wickedly as Alfred stopped in front of his and Ludwig's apartment complex. He pulled out a scrap of napkin from his pocket and jotted something on it. He handed it to Matthew and as he was stepping out of the cab, he pulled the smaller man nearly out of the car which him and captured his lips with his own. Matthew squeaked but didn't pull away as Gilbert deepened the kiss, until the two were intwined. Matthew broke and gasped for air.

"What the maple was that?!" He whispered loudly. Gilbert smirked and tousled his hair. The rain had stopped but Matthews hair was still wet.

"French kiss, birdie. Thanks Al, Matt, I gotta go." The albino man ran up the stairs as Matthew leaned against his brother's cab. He glanced at the scrap of napkin in his hand, seeing a phone number and a 'call me birdie'.

"Bastard didn't even pay me." Alfred muttered angrily as he drove his brother home.

**Yes no? Please reviews!**


	2. Prucan: Book

**More prucan! Because I Ike my OTPs more than I like a lot of things. Also language in this one.**

**Guess what I don't own? Hetalia, that's what.**

Matthew walked sullenly down the street trailing after his brother, who, while he was not actually bigger, seemed to take up majority of the sidewalk. He spoke to his boyfriend in a loud voice, saying things that Matthew really didn't care enough to pay attention to. His brother's book was in his American flag striped bag and his boyfriend's was in his pocket. He liked having it on his person, he had told Matthew once.

Matthew's own book was clutched in his hand, the pages were crisp and clean and the cover wasn't as damaged as his brothers or his papa's. Alfred's book was dirty and beat up and the pages were wrinkled and stuck together sometimes and some had even fallen out towards the beginning. His brother's life story was beat up and well read and while it had bad parts, everybody else's story did too, and it was well liked. Sometimes complete strangers asked Matthew's brother if they could read his book. Matthews book had never been read, not even by his 'doting' 'older' brother who claimed to 'totally be there for you bro!' Had never even glanced at a page of Matthew's life story.

But in all honesty, thinking about that made Matthew depressed. He usually didn't even think about his lack of popularity in relation to his brother's, but he was having a bad day. Third wheeling was not on his list of favorite activities, but here he was, tagging behind the two again. But Matthew was snapped out of his reverie but someone large and solid knocking into him. He looked up and saw a told blonde man with blue eyes and a short skinny Italian with Amber eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Matthew muttered, scooting out of the way so they could pass.

"Lud! That was so totally unawesome! You could've said like excuse me to the poor kid!" Matthew looked up from where he had determinedly set his gaze on the sidewalk. A tall pale- no, he was albino- guy was staring right at him, but yelling at the guy with blonde hair, who turned. Matthew shuddered under his calculating gaze. 'That albino guy's gonna get his ass kicked.' He though to himself, 'but it was a nice thought.'

"Gilbert, stop acting like a child. There is nobody there." The man said and turned back to the little man who was clinging onto his arm. Matthew sighed. Why didn't people notice him?

"Sorry about that. Luddy's a dick sometimes." oh. The albino man was standing in front of him, one hand on his hio and the other clutching a book that he hand written the word 'awesome' all over the cover.

"Oh no, it's fine, it happens a lot." Matthew whispered. The guys shifted in front of him and held out his hand. It was a common gesture, used by a lot of people. But never to Matthew. He stared at the man's outstretched hand.

"C'mon, dude, aren't you going to give me your book? Because, you're pretty cute, but I don't have forever." He slowly handed over the pristine book, which the man opened.

"Wow, this doesn't look touched-oh." The albino looked up at him. "Names Gilbert. Is this the first time somebody's read your book?" Matthew nodded.

"Yeah people don't really... Go for me." He explained. "I'm Matthew."

"Tell you what, Matthew. Would you be totally awesome and let me borrow your book til dinner tonight?"

"Tonight? But I'm not going to a dinner tonight-"

"Until now, right? I'll see you at the Grill at six then." Matthew stared dumbfounded at Gilbert's back as he followed the blonde man, who was farther off in this distance.

"Wait!" He found the sense to yell. Gilbert turned. "I don't even have your book!" the other man's face darkened.

"That's nothing you want to read." He said and ran after the pair. Matthew turned to follow his brother and saw Alfred had actually waited for once. He watched his twin with an almost amused look.

"Who was that?" he asked. Matthew blushed.

"That was Gilbert." Alfred raised his eyebrow.

"You know him?" Matthew shook his head.

"Ah- no."

"And you just gave him your book?"

"I-I did, didn't I?" Matthew said, sounding amazed.

"He seemed like a serious douche." Alfred warmed his brother, even though he hadn't heard a word of the conversation. Mattie didn't need to know that.

"You would know." Matthew whispered, turning to follow his brother home.

* * *

A year later, Alfred still stood by his original premonition that Gilbert was an asshole. And Matthew still defended his boyfriend, who always stood right behind him, drinking an beer and making faces at Alfred behind the quieter twin's back. These nights out drinking never ended particularly well, but they were still fun.

One such night left the couple holding hands walking home, not drunk enough to be saying and singing but still definitely drunk.

"Hey Gil?" Matthew turned to his albino boyfriend, who nuzzled his cheek in turn.

"Mm. Yeah birdie?" Matthew took a deep breath.

"Can I read your book?" The pale skinned man froze. They had been going out for nearly a year and the Canadian still had not even glanced inside the book that held Gilbert's life story.

"Birdie."

"Gil."

"You'll leave me." Gilbert said softly, brushing the pad of his thumb across Matthews cheek. "I've done- oh god I don't even want to- No birdie. I'm sorry. I-I can't- You can't- you're the best thing I've ever had." At the end of his refusal, his heavily accented voice began to crack.

"Gil." Matthew said softly. The man's red eyes were still affixed to the ground. "Gilbert. Look at me." Reluctantly, he did. "_Miel_, you could be an axe murderer and I would still love you. Honest. Probably." Gilbert chuckled dryly.

"I'm not an axe murderer." He took a strained breath. You have to promise not to leave me and- and yeah. You can read it. I don't wanna be there though." Matthew pressed a kiss to Gilbert's temple.

"Je t'aime tellement, tellement. I won't leave you." He murmured. Gilbert sighed.

"Ich liebe dich auch."

* * *

**So a little bit of shameless fluff and angst. Idk. Suggested tigons for pairs/ AU's? I'm working on another prucan but I like others too.**

**miel- french,honey **

**Je t'aime tellement, tellement- french, I love you so so much**

** ich liebe dich auch- I love you too, German **


	3. Prucan: Circus

**I swore I was gonna do one that wasn't Prucan, but I saw the AU idea and fell in freaking love, ok?**

**Also: Thank you so much for the reviews! I'm considering a spin off fic based on the last chapter and Gilbert's book!**

**Also Also: I know nothing about circus' acts so please don't hesitate to correct me on anything! This one will be a long one.**

**_Aww, you think I own Hetalia. That's adorable. Of course I don't. _**

* * *

Matthew stood on the edge of his platform, hands sweaty under a layer of chalk. He could see the rest of the performers below, barely. They were watching him and his brother. Their special act. The one that had gotten them into this circus in the first place. He looked back up and saw Alfred grinning wolfishly at him across the tightrope.

"Alright boys. Go ahead." Called the ringmaster from the ground. He was a short, British man with ridiculous eyebrows that Alfred had already managed to piss off. But he was quietly impressed with their act.

Matthew started forward from his perch. One step forward and his body went to autopilot, his feet barely touching the rope separating him from his brother. the crossed and flexed and hopped in short, bird like flits that could hardly be called jumps. His feet moved with out him and he jumped and flexed backwards, backwards until his feet found the wire again.

* * *

'He moves with the grace of 2000 dancers.' Was the first thing that Gilbert thought about the tightrope walker. But that didn't do him justice. He didn't walk on the rope. He flitted like a bird, danced on the rope that, from here, looked like a gossamer thread. The albino shook his head. These thoughts were uncharacteristic of him. But a small part of his mind whispered their truth still. The performer cartwheeled across the wire, feet never straying from their path.

The wire dancer- that's what Gilbert had decided to call him, as any other name would never hold a light to what he did- himself was beautiful, and maybe his surreal beauty to Gilbert masked imperfections in the performance, but judging by the looks on his coworker's faces, he didn't think that was the case.

But he quickly returned his blood colored eyes to the sky, where another performer had joined the first. But he was not as talented. In Gilbert's opinion at least. The two moved together like nothing he'd ever seen before, and had he seen high wire acts. They danced with a grace unheard of, at heights that were making him dizzy to think about.

They were two grown men that danced with the grace of two songbirds in flight. The second man twirled the wire dancer _off the wire_ and in the middle of the air with stunning ease. They jumped and flipped and _danced_ and Gilbert swears to this day it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. And when they stopped abruptly and bowed to the rest of the performers, Gilbert claps until his hands and red and whistles until his brother elbows him no less than four times.

* * *

Matthew panted quietly as he descended from the wire and onto the ground. He dreaded placing his feet on the ground. From above everything was so small and so trivial and so so beautiful. And on the ground... The truth was easier to see, and everybody's scars and filth were right up in your face.

And Matthew was clumsy. Unbearably so. He tripped over his own feet and other people's and on occasion small pieces of furniture. So when he finally got to the ground, he made sure to not run into anything, just quickly ran off to find a place to change out of his performance clothes.

When he finally did, he unlaced his ballet style slippers and tore off the tight shirt that his act mandated. Alfred managed to pull it off, bit on Matthew it just showed off his ribs and gangly form. His fingers had just slipped under the waistband of the tights when he heard someone approach from behind. He spun wildly and turned to face a tall man with with hair and red eyes. And albino. One of the oddities, perhaps?

"That was quite the show." He said, crossing his arms. Matthew blushed. He never knew what to say to the admirers.

"I'm glad you like it." he said. The mans eyes widened.

"Like it?" The man spluttered. "That was- it was- that was the awesomest thing I've ever seen! You dance like a little bird!"

Matthew looked appraisingly at the man. That one was new, at least.  
"Thank you. Do you work in this circus too?" He asked. The man nodded and stuck out his hand.  
"I'm Gilbert. Mein brother Ludwig and I are the big cat trainers here." Matthew shook his hand, just noting the faint German accent on his words now. So he wasn't one of the oddities.  
"Matthew. And that was my brother Alfred up there with me. We- well, you saw. We're tightrope walkers. "

"Nien, you, birdie, are a wire dancer." Matthew's cheeks flushed. Gilbert definitely had a way with words, didn't he?

"That was strangely poetic for you." Said a new, French accented voice in the background.  
A handsome man with a blonde ponytail emerged from the shadows of the tent. He gazed at Matthew in a predatory way that had Matthew remembering his lack of a shirt.  
Gilbert scowled. Trust Francis to come and muck up his chances with the gorgeous newcomer. But he noticed that Matthew, thankfully, looked a little alarmed at the Frenchmen's presence.

"Go away Francis." Gilbert muttered as his friend strode forward and took Matthew's hand, which had Gilbert reeling with an irrational sense of possessiveness.

"Your performance was truly exquisite." Francis cooed.

His type, Matthew knew though. Sure, this man was attractive, and seemed nice enough, but his beauty was slippery and seemed to cling to him with a near palpable oily sheen and he would use it to get whatever he wanted.

So Matthew thanked the Frenchman and drew back his hand and turned back to his duffel bag, drawing out his red hoodie and a pair of jeans. He reached for the waistband and glanced at the intruders, one more welcome than the other.

"Do you mind?" And turned to Gilbert. "It was um, good to meet you. Maybe you could show me the cats sometimes?" Gilbert grinned widely and dragged the other man out of the little room. Matthew started to tug on the waistband but halted abruptly.

"Please, Francis?" A loud laugh echoed in the near silence of the back room and Matthew waited to continue changing until the sound of dragging feet was heard.

* * *

He didn't see Gilbert until the next morning, when the ringmaster, (his name was Arthur, Matthew reminded himself) invited him and Alfred to see some of the other acts.

"Dude, I heard they've got lion tamers! Two!" His brother told him excitedly. Matthew smiled indulgently and Arthur sniffed.

"Ludwig and Gilbert do more than train lions, Alfred. They've got a leopard and 2 tigers and they help Ivan with his bears sometimes. They are quite remarkable with animals." The Englishman led them from their trailer to a small back tent with a trailer parked right next to it. He rapped sharply on the door.

"Gilbert! Ludwig! Open up! The new performers want to see your act!" The shabby tin seemed to dent under his fist. It took about 3 seconds for Gilbert to swing open the door.

"It'll just be me today, bruder is staying with Feli." He smirked. "And apparently STILL not getting any." Gilbert's eyes passed over Alfred and Arthur and landed on Matthew.

"Ah! Birdie! Good to see you! But when you asked to see the cats, I was hoping that you meant something completely different." He winked and Alfred gritted his teeth at the remark. Arthur rolled his eyes while Matthew chuckled.

"Unfortunately not." Matthew replied. Gilbert hopped out of his trailer, slamming the delicate tin door back onto its hinges and made his way into the tent. He surveyed the dimly lit room. Cages of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, but only a few of the larger ones were filled. One held a lioness, her sandy pelt gleaming and dark eyes glinting. Another held a huge, hulking brown bear with beady eyes, and the one directly in front of Matthew held a white tiger, that stared at him with bright blue eyes.

Their trainer, however, flitted around the little room like the excited little creature he called Matthew. He rifled through a cooler at the back and tossed a cut of meat to one of the other lions, who snapped it up eagerly. The whole time he was talking and laughing with himself and, evidently, the animals. He referred to each of them by name and stuck his pale fingers through the cages of a few, scratching under the lioness' jaw and narrowly avoiding losing his pinkie to the bear.

The other two visitors to the tent, however, remained mostly silent, content just to gaze at the dangerous creatures in their captivity. Once or twice Alfred excitedly pointed something out to Arthur who would roll his eyes and smile.

Matthew approached Gilbert, who was talking to a sleeping leopard and petting it's thick fur without a care for his safety. The trainer looked up.

"Do you like them?" he asked, withdrawing his hand and standing up. "They're nowhere near as nice as your act and I can't actually do very much without Luddy here but-" Matthew placed his hand on the other man's shoulder. They were very nearly strangers but Alfred liked this circus and so did he and they had no plans of leaving anytime soon.

"Gilbert."Matthew said in his quiet voice. "They're beautiful." And he wasn't lying. They were. Each could kill a man with a flick of their paws but were sitting, docile in their cages, listening to the commands of a man who wasn't even 6ft and talked about himself in the 3rd person when he thought people weren't listening. Gilbert flushed, but Matthew went on.

"I just can't imagine what you're like in the actual preformance. Arthur wasn't joking, you really are amazing with these animals. Perhaps.." Matthew faltered and here Gilbert picked up.

"Perhaps you'd like a private show sometimes?" Matthew's head shot up and his face was stained crimson. But Gilbert was blushing too.

"I'd like that."

* * *

And that was how it started. Every night after that the two would walk to the main tent where the high-wire was set up and Matthew would dance for Gilbert, who always stayed on the ground, clapped and cheered and it never threw his boyfriend off. Sometimes Gilbert sang, a little creaky and off pitch but Matthew danced to the rhythm of his words and they'd leave the tent holding hands and go back to the tent with the lions and Matthew would steal kisses on the way there. Sometimes they didn't even make it to Gilbert's act, they'd just retire to his trailer.

This went on for a year and a half before in the middle of one of Gilbert's performances, Sita, the white bengal he had been so fixated with on their second meeting stopped in the middle of the show, got down onto all four legs and walked over to where Mattie was sitting. The large animal nuzzled his hand, and dropped his heavy skull onto the man's lap. Matthew was shaking in fear, when the animal opened her jaws and spit a black box onto Matthew's lap. The tiger then turned around and went back to his performance. Gilbert looked over at Matthew, a dangerous thing to do when playing with big cats; eye contact was crucial, but his boyfriend still looked a little shell shocked and it was a few seconds before he shakily opened the wet box. He fingered the silver band inside.

"Whaddya say birdie?" Gilbert yelled, and helped a new cat, a panther that Matthew had dubbed Kumajiro, stand on his ball.

"I might as well, it's not like this would be your only time asking." Matthew replied with a cheeky grin.

"So it's a yes?"

"Of course it is, dumbass!"

And the rest, as they say, is history.


	4. Prucan: Teacher

**SO MY NEW GREASE FIC IS OUT! Yaaay! Also I'm so sorry for my mini update it was being idiotic so I deleted it. The weak must be eliminated. ANYWAY GO READ MY GREASE FIC! Yay Prucan! Also I started the book chapter omake. **

**So, with out further ado, this weeks chapter. Also don't forget to review cos I love that.**

**I still, miraculously, do not own Hetalia, if you can believe it.**

* * *

Matthew was straight out of college, little to no teaching experience, but with excellent grades and a voice that couldn't be heard over whispers. He was the kind of teacher who wore a sweater over a dress shirt everyday, and was probably scared of some of the louder students.

Gilbert too was straight off the books, but unlike Matthew, he'd just scraped by a passing grade to earn his teaching degree. He was loud, albino and not really that smart. In his opinion, he was pretty much the greatest thing to ever have happened to the world.

You might be able see the root of their problems as partners.

When they both applied to work at Clearwppd Junior High, neither expected to have to share a classroom, and neither expected such a different partner, but according to the principal, Julius Vargas, they both had 'extreme potential' and he couldn't 'let either of their talents go to waste'.

And so Matthew Williams and Gilbert Bielschmidt started their joint career as teachers.

* * *

Their first day started unusually well for Gilbert. He woke up before his alarm clock (read: his not-so little brother), and managed to look as put together as was physically possible for him and he entered the classroom, 45 minutes before classes started.

His co-teacher, however, rushed into the room 5 minutes after he second bell rang. Matthew's sweater vest was rumpled and his glasses hung off his face at a strange angle, and for the second time since meeting the man two weeks ago, Gilbert was struck with how _ cute _his new partner was, for a grown man.

The students turned in their seats and whispered as Matthew swept into the room, barely keeping a hold on the overstuffed messenger bag in his grip.

"You're late." Gilbert called from the front of the room where he was clicking determinedly at the ActivBoard. Matthew set down his bag on his chair and straightened his glasses. The students stared at him and he blushed profusely.

"I know. I am so, so sorry!" Gilbert shrugged.

"Guys, I think I mentioned earlier that I'll be sharing a classroom with another teacher. This is Mr. Williams. He teaches in the afternoon, but has to come in for work in the morning. Which is screwed up. He'll like, help me teach and I'll help him, so be super awesome to him, ok?" So\me of the kids chorused back 'ok's.

"Anyway, we're going to study american history this year, which is boring. I'm not even American, but that's what they're telling us to teach. So it all started with the other countries finding America and ..." Matthew listened to Gilbert teach, not once offering more facts. He had a way of getting the kids to listen by paraphrasing and using analogies and jokes.

"And so Britain was like, 'America, why are we so low on Tea' and America was like 'Uh we had a totaly awesome tea party?' but they didn't sound convincing and so Britain was like 'You threw it into the harbor, didn't you?'" He had a way of making things that happened centuries ago relate able, and by the time the bell rang and his lecture ended, Matthew approached the man.

"You're a phenomenal teacher." He whispered. "I have no idea why Julius hired me." The next class filed in and Gilbert looked surprised at the other teacher.

"Tell ya what, you teach this next period and we'll find out." he walked back to his desk and started to look over a course book, but jerked his head up. "And Matthew? I'm sure you're an awesome teacher. Matthew found himself standing in front of a room full of eigth graders, blushing furiously.

"Alright. I'm Matt-I mean I'm Mr. Williams and I am going to be your history teak-teach- TEACHER!" he spluttered and laughed. The students laughed with covered his face with a hand and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "Ah this hasn't really started the best. Ok so this year, we're going to be working on American history, which you guys have been learning since what, kindergarten?"

* * *

"That was the most stressful thing I've ever endured in my life," Matthew admitted to Gilbert over lunch. He speared a chunk of salad on his fork and popped it into his mouth. Gilbert shrugged.

"I don't know. You looked kids really seemed to like you." He smirked. "I was right. You're a totally awesome teacher." Matthew blushed. Was he really devolving a crush on his coworker? He hoped not, that could end really badly.

"Well I mean, I'm nowhere near as good as you. They all love you, you make history interesting and you're really funny, so it keeps their attention." Gilbert raised an eyebrow. Matthew thought he was funny? They might be getting somewhere.

"Next period's yours right?" He asked casually. Matthew shrugged and downed some more salad.

"I guess. But I just taught for you, so you could return the favor, if you want." He turned a darker shade of scarlet. "I mean, you don't have to, I'll totally do it, but I mean... Whatever works." The canadian teacher mumbled.

"I'll teach." Gilbert agreed. Matthew nodded.

"well, I've got a thing-" he motioned to the door and picked up his empty Tupperware. Gilbert nodded, a bit crestfallen.

"Ah. Ok, see you later, then." And Matthew took his lunchbox and left the teacher's lounge. Gilbert let his head fall onto the fake wood surface of the table.

"You've got it bad, son." He muttered to himself.

* * *

"It's so unbearable. They like, flirt in class." One girl muttered to her friend on the way out of Matthew's class, halfway through the third quarter.

"I know right?! They're so blind. Mr. B totally likes Mr. Williams." Matthew was holding open the door for said girls, and overheard their conversation, making the shy teacher turn vermillion as he adjusted his glasses.

"Isabella, Lexi, go to class." He scolded loudly. The pair turned and giggled at him. He shorter girl turned to him.

"Just go ask him out. He'd say yes."

"GO TO CLASS!" His volume was as close as it ever got to yelling and the girls snickered and ran down the hallway. Gilbert watched curiously from his seat.

"What'd they say?" He asked, tapping a pen on his nose. Matthew looked up.

"Ah- um, nothing."

"You sure? You seem a little shaken up?" Gilbert smirked. "Did they insult your hockey team again?"

"That was one time!"

"That was the only detention you've ever given!" Matthew hung his head and made a face like swallowing something nasty.

"Do you... Want to.. Uh, get some drinks or uh, something after work?" He asked shyly, so quiet that his coworker almost didn't hear him.

"Are you asking me on a date, Mattie?"

"N-!"

"'Cus I don't know how much longer I can do this whole, platonic thing." Matthew's head shot up.

"Yeah. Date. Sure."

Lexi Jones and Isabella New got straight A's in Matthew's half of American History for the rest of the year.


	5. Gerita: Flight

**Ok I'm going to triple spellcheck this one. Also, please review! If you hate it, tell me! If you love it, tell me! **

**I got this idea somewhere I think, but first GerIta in this series! Cus everyone likes GerIta, right?**

**REVIEWS ARE BETTER THAN FREE WIFI**

* * *

Feli adjusted his new flight jacket. It hung loosely off his thin frame, but mostly everything did. He glanced at his reflection in the airport bathroom. His chestnut hair was messy and his curly ahoge stuck out from the side of his head. The Italian man ran his hands down his skinny body, smoothing the crisp blue fabric. He really should eat more pasta like Grandpa Julius said. Too skinny, he decided, combing his fingers through his hair and putting the stiff canvas cap on his head.

He exited the bathroom into the nearly empty airport. Airports don't really close but Feliciano's shift started at 1 am, and that was as close as it got, or so Lovino told him. Feliciano skipped across the wide open space to a small gray door labeled 'employees only'. it swung open and he ran headlong into his brother, who toppled over.

"Idiota! you just started this job and you already screw it up!" Lovino growled.

"I'm so sorry Lovi! " The smaller twin whimpered.

"Whatever your flight is boarding in 20 minutes, so get your stupid ass down to gate 22, capisce?"

"Si Lovi! I'll see you in Barcelona, right?" Lovino rolled his hazel eyes And adjusted his attendant badge.

"Yeah, yeah whatever you'll see me in Barcelona." He grumbled, detaching his brother from his person. Feliciano put his clothes in the backpack that Lovino held out, kissed his brother on each cheek and ran out to meet the rest of the crew.

* * *

"This is your captain speaking. Please fasten your seat belts and prepare for lift off." Feliciano froze when he heard a silky smooth voice, lined with a German accent play over the intercom. The lady he had been helping's duffel bag fell onto his head. _'His voice.'_ He thought, scooping it up idly and stuffing it into an overhead compartment.

It was by far the nicest voice Feliciano had ever heard. Sure, the captain's German accent made him giggle, but it only added to the attractiveness of his voice. And furthermore, how can a voice even be attractive? But his most definitely was. It sounded like... Well, Feli was having trouble making pretty analogies in his head, which was always bad because he loved comparing beautiful things and when he couldn't... Something bad almost always happened. He halfheartedly replaced some more carry-on and cleared the aisles, replaying the one mundane sentence in his head.

Somebody cleared their throat and he looked up to see Elizabeta, one of his new coworkers smiling gently at him.

"We're about to take off." She informed him and Feli blushed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I know I just got... A little distracted." He shuffled to the back of the plane where a little room at the back held seats for the employees. Elizavbeta grinned, straightening the maroon scarf around her neck, and followed the new little Italian to the back, pulling the curtains closed behind her.

* * *

"His name's Ludwig." Feliciano would've fallen out of his seat if he hadn't been buckled in, he jumped so bad. He'd been mulling over the captain's latest

"Ah! Im sorry! What was that?" Feli whimpered, putting a hand to his heart, trying desperately to slow its erratic beats. Elizabeta smiled.

"The captain. His name is Ludwig Bielschmidt." The Italian man flushed. He opened his mouth to protest his curiosity but his companion shook her head.

"You weren't being obvious. I'm just good with this type of thing."She surveyed him. "I think he'd like you." The woman concluded.

"I don't know what you're talking about really I mean, he just has a nice voice Ibe nerve actually talked to him or seen him so maybe this is probably not a very good idea." Feliciano explained quickly, his accent flowing his words together and his hands waving erratically. The woman frowned.

"Well, that's no reason he couldn't like you." She told him rationally. "I'll introduce you after we land." Feli nodded dazedly as he watched the ground grow smaller underneath the plane.

* * *

About halfway through the flight, Elizabeta, having recently refilled her trolley of pretzels and peanuts and water, motioned to Feliciano. He paused in the middle of handing someone a pair of headphones. The man took them from his partially outstreched hand. The flight attendant rolles his own trolley back to the back room. The sound of the engine could be heard here loudest, and it smelled faintly stale, but it was already growing on Feliciano. Elizabeta followed.

"We're supposed to give the captain and the copilot some water now." She whispered excitedly to Feli.

"Oh. Ok then." He mumbled, suddenly shy and acutely aware of the fact that one of the passagengers had spilled part of their water bottle down his vest.

"Aww, c'mon! You want to meet Ludwig don't you?" Feliciano nodded, and followed Elizabeta out of the back room, skipping behind her cart.

* * *

"'I'm sorry, only one person at a time in the cockpit'" Elizabeta read off the door. She scowled angrily. "When did they get that?!" Feliciano shrugged. Elizabeta sighed and pushed her trolley into the cockpit and followed it.

"Hey wait! Elizabeta! I want to meet the captain!" The Italian man shrieked as she proceeded with out care, lingering a little too much in the doorway, letting Feli's cries into the cockpit. She smiled and pushed forward, noting carefully how Ludwig's face, had turned a remarkable shade of pink at the shrill words. He didn't turn, but spoke in his gruff voice.

"Who's that Elizabeta?" She smiled wickedly.

"Oh him? He's new. Italian. Really cute, especially his voice, don'tyou think so?" She asked. The pilot's face really was remarkably blushy for someone so tough.

"I- I'm not entirely sure that's up for me to say." Ludwig said carefully.

"But he has a nice voice." Elizabeta insisted and the German pilot thought it over. the voice was undeniably cute, the loud, lilting Italian that sounded like opera even when speaking English. The more he thought it over, the more it made him blush. What did the man behind he voice look like?

"J-ja I guess he has a nice voice." Elizabeta tosses him a water bottle, and spun out of the room.

"I'll introduce you when we touch down." Ludwig groaned girl was crazy, but if he was honest with himself, a small part of him really did want to meet this new Italian.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, Ludwig's voice sounded over the intercom once more.

"Please fasten all seatbelts, we will be touching down in Barcelona, Spain in 10 you." Elizabeta grinned at Feli who looked a little pink in the cheeks.

The pair went to sit down in the back room.

"Are you excited?" Elizabeta asked, leaning on a hand.

"Oh yeah! I get to see mio fratello again, I wonder how his flight was?" The woman looked blankly at Feliciano, who returned the gaze. After a few seconds he blinked.

"Ohh, to meet Ludwig! Yeah, Yeah I am. He sounds really super nice!" He gushed, only a little embarrassed. Then the plane jolted and they were on the ground, in Barcelona.

"Ready to go?" Elizabeta asked, unbuckling her seat belt. Feli nodded, his heart fluttering. The pair if attendants helped first class, then middle class collext their things and leave their seats. Finally, the two were alone and the woman tugged Feliciano up the aisles.

"Aiii!" He yelped, and followed awkwardly along. They reached the cockpit and Elizabeta flung aside the curtain. The pair crashed straight into Ludwig who had just gotten up to leave.

'He's like a wall.' Was Feli's first thought. The second was, 'Oh no, he's hot.' Which didn't actually surprise him, given Ludwig's rich voice. To Feli, it sounded like caramel tasted.

Ludwig's pale face flamed as he looked at the pair he had crashed into. He was mildly sorry about running into Elizabeta, but more so her companion. The man was little and skinny, with messy brown hair and big amber eyes that were currently focused on _him. Oh. _He brushed himself off and stood hurriedly, helping Elizabeta and her companion to their feet. The smaller man, to his utmost _shock, _got up and hugged him.

"Ah! Grazie, I'm Feliciano! You must be Ludwig, the captain!" He said excitedly, throwung his arms around the enormous man. Ludwig made a dignified sound and turned a shade of red that since has not been replicated by another person. Ever.

"Ja, I'm Ludwig Bielschmidt. It's ah, good to meet you, Feliciano. Could you possibly let go of me?"Feli blushed and let go quickly. He turned and found Elizabeta to be gone.

"Heeey! Where'd Elizabeta go?" The Italian man warbled. Ludwig covertly studied him. He was attractive, very, attractive. But more the man was cute, there was simply no other word for him. He shifted awkwardly.

"Hey, um... Feliciano, is it?" The attendant nodded happily. "Would you want to, maybe get some breakfast with me?" He asked, uncharacteristically shy.

"Of course!" Feliciano chirruped happily. Ludwig blinked. He hadn't expected the man to accept. But he did, and grabbed the pilot's hand and dragged him to the exit.

"Hey Luddy, do you think I could sit next to you on the way home?" He asked. Ludwig smiled, thinking he was joking.

"Sure."

* * *

And when Ludwig found out the little Italian was not at all joking, it was far too late, and he didn't really want to tell him to move, because it was nice to listen to Feli talk, and the radio telling him information on the other pilots, the small hand clasped in his own. When Elizabeta came to collect Feli to pass out some water bottles or something like that, the little man surprised him with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to return. Ludwig probably said something intelligent, but he couldn't remember.

* * *

** So random ending.**


	6. Prucan: Insomnia

**Hey guys this is just a mini update cus I just want to know what kind of pairings you want to see here, other than prussiaxcanada, of course. I have a couple new ideas but I'm not sure what you guys want. I know I'm supposed to write cus it makes me happy, but I like making other happy too! **

**So request pairings please!**

**i don't own shit!**

* * *

Summer is beautiful and horrible, equal measures. Right now, it was horrible. Matthew was sprawled across his empty bed, sheets tangled, panting heavily. He hadn't even been doing anything. Just... The world didn't want him asleep right now, apparently. There was virtually no breeze, except for the whirring hot wind of the fan trying to unstick his posters. The cicadas buzzed incessantly, and every minute his clock beeped, marking another minute of Matthew's life wasted awake and alone.

He rolled onto his side to stare blearily at the clock. 3:01 it blinked back, oblivious of Matthew's eyesight problems. The Canadian groaned. Moving to Ohio to be with his brother had been such a good idea, eh?! Ohio had seemed like his home, at first, but he'd soon learned the truth of the matter. 'If you don't like the weather in Ohio, wait five minutes.' The saying goes. And it was TRUE. It should not be 88 at night, when the day before had been only 65!

"It's too early for this." Matthew decided, pushing back the sweaty sheets and rolling off the mattress. Sleepily, he pulled on a red tee and gray athletic shorts. He stumbled down a flight of stairs, nearly tripping on the last one.

His kitchen lights flickered on, and he grabbed a bag of his late night insomnia buster- pancake mix. Not the cheap Hungry Jack stuff or Aunt Jemima. He'd made this stuff awhile ago, mixing everything but the eggs and milk. Matthew pulled down a bowl and poured the mix into it, a bit of the floury mixture on the counter. into the blessed cool of the fridge he reached for the milk, but his hand closed around empty space. Frowning, the blonde inspected its contents. No milk, no pancakes and- Matthew almost gasped at the sheer horror- no maple syrup. Well that settles it.

Grabbing his keys, Matthew stumbled into the yard, wallet weighing down his pocket. He slid into his Jeep and promptly rolled all the windows down. He peeled out of the driveway. It was 3 am, would anyone even notice the speed limit?

The Wal-Mart was close to his house, as nearly all Wal-Marts are in America. So he parked sloppily in the middle of about 4 parking spots and ran into the store. The bright strips of light nearly blinding him. He stumbled over the threshold and was hit by cool air conditioning, something his little house was woefully lacking in. He moaned in relief and quickly found the maple syrup and milk, lingering a bit longer in the dairy aisle, soaking up the lack of heat. He found the one open cashier and began to pay for his items.

"Whey the hell do you need maple syrup at 3 in the morning?" The cashier, a tall albino man with cruel red eyes asked curiously. His name tag read 'Gilbert Bielsmichdt'.

"All the time is a good time for maple syrup." Matthew muttered. Gilbert grinned.

"Can't argue with that one. But seriously, you making pancakes at the ass crack of dawn?" Matthew looked at him blankly, like he couldn't see the problem with that.

"I get off in," Gilbert checked his watch. "2 Minutes. If Your making pancakes at 3 am, you gotta be pretty awesome."

"I guess, yeah." Matthew shrugged, his usual moral filters impaired by lack of sleep. "You want some?" Gilbert muttered something like 'Hell yeah', then finished scanning Matthew's milk.

5 minutes later, the two walked out, Gilbert's arm around the already dozing Matthew, who would wake up with a stranger in his bed and not a single regret.


	7. USUK: Superman

**USUK, huh? Gotta say, I'm more of a Fruk girl myself. But I like both a lot. So this chapter is USUK, the next will probably be Prucan, then maybe Spamano, Fruk, LeitPol, RoChu or Edelweiss? (That's Austria/Switzerland, one of the most underrated pairings in the fandom, btw.) **

**Idk, it's mostly up to you.**

**This is a superman AU, I think. I'm not really sure.**

**I still do not own hetalia. **

* * *

'The great oaf is going to hurt himself.' Arthur thought, peering through the glass wall in front of him at the city's savior, Captain Hero, buzzing recklessly around the head of some mutant or another. The giant thing crashed into a building, swatting at the caped man. Glass shattered from across the street.

The journalist scribbled at his notepad, putting onto paper the feats of the super human. He grabbed for the camera he kept for emergencies, like when his idiotic intern Alfred never showed up. Where was the boy?!

A loud roar echoed through the streets, and Arthur jerked his head up. The thing had moved closer the building that published his stories, the one he was standing in right now.

An enormous, scaly hand broke through the window, sending shards of glass everywhere, and Arthur diving away, face down. The pieces of glass rained down harmlessly, and when Arthur thought it was safe, he stood. The Englishman discovered that the glass was not all safe; a small fragment had lodged itself in his lower back, and was soaking his tweed jacket with blood.

But to be honest, he had bigger problems. Like the disgusting scaled behemoth that was staring him in the face. With a little (completely manly, I assure you) shriek, Arthur grabbed his notebook and scrambled to a door downstairs. But it was locked, and while he fumbled with it, a taloned hand reached out for him. The Brit flattened himself to a wall, ink stained fingers still clutching his notebook.

A whoosh of wind and he was no longer against the flimsy plaster walls, but scooped up like a girl in the arms of the one and only Captain Hero.

"Stop bothering this man! The hero is against it!" He shouted, as he swept Arthur out of the blue eyed man looked down. His eyes widened and he smiled in recognition.

"Hey, it's you again! Man, the baddies really like you, huh?" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Evidently so. But you keep saving me." He pointed out. Was Arthur imagining the blush on the hero's face?

"Yeah well, uh, that's the hero's job." Arthur shook his head and peered to the ground that blurred under neath them.

"Have you seen my intern? Tall, your height? Blonde hair, southern accent?" Now he was definitely not imagining the splash of red on the hero's face.

"Ah... Yes. He was um... Leaving I think. Seeing if he could get some more photos, I think. Look I'm not really sure ok, I'm just telling you what I think I saw. Probably." The blonde man was nervous, Arthur could tell.

They reached a safe point, and the superhero lowered Arthur carefully to the ground. They stood there, Captain Hero grinning awkwardly.

"Hope you find you're intern." He turned to push off the ground. "And Arthur, try to be a little care-fuller next time." The hero said, hovering over the ground, then swooped in and kissed the reporter on his messy, ink splattered, dusty cheek.

And for a moment, Arthur forgot all about wherever the hell Alfred was, and the shard of glass still lodged in his back and just thought about 'Oh my lord Captain Hero _kissed_ me.'

And then reality came back as the blonde man flew away, leaving the lingering scent of something familiar.

* * *

"Where the bloody hell where you?!" Arthur questioned Alfred when the reporter returned to the Newspaper company the next day. The American shrugged nonchalantly.

"I was trying to get some shots of Captain Hero." He grinned and held out his camera, clicking through the photos. Arthur had to admit, they were pretty good. Captain Hero flying, Captain Hero kicking a bad guy, Captain Hero posing. They were excellent, really.

"You could've told me." The Brit muttered, handing the camera back to his intern. In truth, they were only a few years apart, but the American was sometimes immature that Arthur felt like he was talking to a middle schooler.

"Sorry, Artie," Alfred drawled, southern accent thick. He put a case over the lense of his camera and backed towards a wrecked cubicle. "I'm gonna help over here, ok?" His boss muttered his assent and went back to clicking a way at his laptop, where he was composing the latest of Captain Hero's escapades.

A couple minutes later he tapped the period button for the last time. Arthur straightened and pressed save.

"Alfred! Get in here! I want you to proof-read this!" He yelled. The American poked his head out from under the desk he was re-affixing a leg to.

"Sounds good, Artie!" Alfred said, taping over the glue on the leg. He straightened and hopped over to where the British man was rolling his eyes. He was handed the shiny laptop. The blue eyes skimmed over the lines of text behind his glasses.

"You sound like you know this Captain Hero guy." Alfred commented. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Unfortunately, I do. The damn fiends that hunt him take a shining to me suspiciously often. The Captain has had to save me on a few occasions."

"More than a few." Alfred muttered. The Brit's impressive eyebrows shot skywards.

"How would you know?" A vaguely familiar blush coated the intern's face. _'He looks_ _kind of like Captain Hero. Very attractive.' _Arthur mused. Then he shook his head, hard. Alfred was his intern, and captain hero was utterly would do not good to think about either man in such a way. 'No use to wonder about the impossible.'

"Ah... Well. Lucky guess I suppose." Alfred said, momentarily slipping out of his southern accent. "'Cus you're like, ya know, so clumsy here." He amended, reapplying the south Alabama drawl quickly.

"Whatever."

"Hey uh, boss?" Arthur looked up from where he was editing a few typos.  
The wind was whistling through the still-shattered window and the office smelled not of ink and paper as it usually did, but of construction material and the wafting scent of a pretzel vendor on the sidewalk below. And the setting sun framed the silhouette of his lovely American intern rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Yes Alfred?" The Brit said irritatedly. He just had to look so damn perfect all the time, didn't he?

"Want to get a drink?" Was Alfred... Asking him out?

"Alright." He agreed, closing and saving the document. Arthur shut the laptop.

Alfred helped a giggling and inebriated Arthur up the stairs to his apartment. But he too was laughing and just a teeny bit tipsy.

"Y'know who you look like?" Arthur slurred. Alfred obliged him.

"Who?"

"C'ptain Hero. I mean, blonde eyes and blue hair- er blue eyes and blonde hair and the face." Alfred's face was grasped in Arthur's slightly sweaty hands, and his fake glasses were knocked to the floor. Not that Arthur knew they weren't genuine.

"See! Without the glasses you really do look like him!" Arthur's hands moved to his hair and he ruffled it, unsticking the carefully gelled strands. They fell around his face gently, except for one that stuck out.

"Ah- Um!"

"I knew it!" Arthur yelled, straightening, the slur on his accent gone.

"What?" Arthur pointed excitedly.

"You! You're captain hero!" He whispered excitedly.

"Ah- What?! I'm Alfred F. Jones! I'm from Langston, Alabama! I'm not Captain Hero! You're drunk!" But his words were panicky and distinctly not accented. Arthur grinned wolfishly and dragged Alfred up the rest of the stairs and to his door, which he hastily unlocked.

"Yes you are! It makes sense now, your never around when he's here, you knew he saves me all the time and you look just like him!" The reporter said animatedly. "Also- Langston Alabama isn't a place." Alfred slumped.

"I'm sorry. What do you want?" Arthur looked at him quizzically.  
"What?"

"What do you want? Blood samples? DNA swabs? Lots of money? I have all of them. Really, just don't publish my identity." He hung his head.

"Alfred." The journalist said, putting his hand on his shoulder.

"I don't want that. Really."

"You're not shitting with me?" The hero asked, all traced of his accent shed.

"Nope."

"Thanks." Arthur suddenly noticed their close proximity. Alfred's strong grip was on his hips and before Arthur knew what was really happening, their lips were moving together and he was just so happy. They broke, Alfred smiling softly.

"You wanna be my damsel in distress?"

"Not if you ever say that again."

"Got it ." And they were joined at the lips again.

I'm bad at endings. And usuk.


	8. Prucan: Model

**Sorry it took me so long to update. I've been having writers block.**

**Inspired by Lady Gaga's Fashion. And since I wrote some USUK, I'm going back to FrUk. Yassssss. Ok sorry. Anyway listen to the song while you read this. And if you finish it, listen to Show me how you burlesque by Christina Aguliera. It'll help.**

**Multiple pairings: hints of Spamano, Prucan, FrUk, Gerita**

**Reviews are really great and I love them. **

**Also I know no French. Only Spanish. **

**Second Also: GILBO'S POTTY MOUTH FEATURES AT THE END**

**I don't own this. **

* * *

"This week you'll be meeting your models and adjusting the clothing to fit them. I believe they're already here, so I'll leave you to it." Madame Bur said, clapping her hands and swishing out of the room. The rest of the class erupted into speech, the design students comparing sketches and fabric swatches and fully made outfits.

"Hey, Francis, does this look awesome, do you think?" Gilbert called to his friend, who had his blonde hair in a bun, pencils sticking out of it. The albino held out a red peacoat for Francis to inspect. The Frenchmen looked up from hand-distressing a pair of skinny jeans. His glasses were perched on his nose in a strange way.

"Hmm? Oh, oui, I like it." He went back to his own design. Gilbert toyed with the dyed wool. Then he hundred it back on its hanger, and consulted his design. A nosy Italian asshole poked his head over Gilbert's shoulder.

"Try a different color coat, bastard." Lovino said, leafing through racks of coats and scarfs and god knows what else. Gilbert scowled, but chose a dark blue coat. At the same time, a scowling blonde man pushed through the door.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland from the modeling agency you've been collaborating with. each of the models have a number which correspomds with one of you." The rest of the designers looked up. Francis took a pencil out of his hair, which fell into a ponytail without it, and adjusted his glasses.

"I think I've fallen in love!" He exclaimed quietly to Gilbert.

"With who? The agent guy?"

"Duh! His beauty is unparalleled." His beauty was in fact, was a little lacking.

"Whatever bro." He rolled his eyes and adjusted the large cardboard '11' on his table, sweeping spare bits of cloth into a trash bin. Gilbert took the hangers with his designs on them and hung them in a row, surveying the fashion.

"Theyre really nice." A quiet voice said from behind him. The albino spun, and came face to face with a skinny, blonde, _gorgeous_ man. With a scrap sheet of paper with the number '11' on it. 'Score!' The designer squeal-um, roared inwardly. Squealing is for sissies. And _this_ gay albino fashion designer is not a sissy.

"Uh, thanks. I'm Gilbert, you must be Matthew, my model?" The blonde boy stepped forward, fingering the fabric of a sweater.

"Yes. I'm Matthew. It's nice to meet you. Are these for me?"

"Yep. There's a lot of students though, so it's just this outfit." Matthew gawked at Gilbert.

"Just this? It's like, 3 days worth of clothes in one outfit!" He exclaimed. The model seemed a tiny bit overwhelmed. Gilbert laughed softly.

"Nah, it's layers see? You put on this shirt first, then this, then the sweater, then the coat." Matthew nodded slowly and opened his (pretty) mouth to say something but then-

"Gilbert, mi amigo!" A happy voice laced with a heavy Spanish accent. Gilbert turned to see his long-time friend Antonio bounding across the studio. Poor bastard was working with Lovino. Ha.

"Hey Tonio! What's up?" And they did one of those back-slap-hug things that guys do, even gay fashion designers and bisexual male models. All guys do it. Matthew stood awkwardly to the side, until he spotted Gilbert's sketch book, which he began to peruse.

"Not much. But hey, this'll be fun, all three of us working together." The pair had been best friends with Francis since before they could walk. Antonio peered around Gilbert to look at Matthew. "Hola Mattie! Hey Gilbert, did you know Matthew is Gilbert's cousin? He is!" the Spaniard's voice dropped to a whisper. "Why are they both so pretty?" Gilbert gave his friend a strange look.

"Ah. I dont know? But hey, tough luck, you got Lovino. Annoying little bastard isn't he?"

"I heard that jackass!" But to the albino's surprise, Antonio shook up his head.

"Ah, no! Lovino is so cute! Just like a little tomato!" Gilbert stared.

"You're joking, right?"

"What do you mean? Of course not! That little Italian is adorable!" Whatever. Antonio always had been the one to go for the absolutely crazy bitches. Matthew cleared his throat, and seemed to cower behind his glasses frames.

"Hey, can I talk to you, for a second, Gilbert?" Jesus freaking Christmas, if this kid got any hotter, Gilbert might jump him.

"Yeah. Sure. See ya, Tonio." the Spaniard went off to bother Francis who was talking to a pretty girl with tanned skin, and simultaneously reaching for the agent's ass. Gilbert rolled his eyes and turned to MattheW, who still had his sketchpad.

"Well, I don't know anything about fashion, really, I don't, but maybe you could use the hat from here," a slender figure tapped Gilbert's paper. "For this design. The one I'll be, you know... Modeling." the designer thought about it.

"You know? I think that's better than what I had before. That's totally awesome Matthew!" The blonde was pulled in for a hug that left him breathless, and considerably redder, his glasses askew on his face.

"Ah, sorry!" Gilbert stammered, embarrassed that he was embarassed.

"Uh, no. It's fine, really." Gilbert tossed a discarded to Matthew, who caught it clumsily.

"Strip." Matthew's eyes bugged out at the command of the designer.

"What?!" Gilbert looked up a seam he was inspecting.

"We've got a show tomorrow, and you haven't tried on any of my clothes so I repeat: strip." Matthew glanced nervously around the room, and saw his colleagues in stages undress; Antonio with out a shirt, his angry Italian designer trying not to drool. Feliciano, chatting animatedly with his desgner, standing only in his boxers. Ludwig was trying to get him to put on the graphic tee shirt that went under the sweater. And Michelle, who was twirling around in a skimpy white dress, Francis half taking notes, half trying to seduce Arthur, who huffed angrily.

Gilbert studied Matthew surveying his friends. Models had to strip in front of strangers all the time, right? Or was that strippers? Both?

"Don't you have to do this all the time?" he asked. Matthew's violet eyes snapped to him.

"He's new!" Feliciano chirruped for across the room. Gilbert's brother Ludwig adjusted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He muttered something like 'I'm just done'.

"New? Why didn't you say so!" Gilbert exclaimed. He tossed a stack of clothes at him. "But seriously. I need to see if these fit. So go find a bathroom or something,and get your cute ass back here in my awesome clothes." the model turned a strange shade of vermilion, then hurried his 'cute ass' out of the room.

* * *

"Turn."

"Lift your arm."

"Take off the jacket."

"Put on the shoes."

"Nice legs, Mattie."

"Uh- thanks." Matthew's face was a strange purplish red by this point, even bedecked in all of Gilbert's 'awesome' fashion. Arthur had given in to Francis' advances some time ago, and the Frenchmen, accompanied by the other blonde came to inspect their work.

"Oh, mon ami, it looks fabulous!"

"Right. Matthew, you need to look more confident in those clothes- your posture will not land you any more jobs on the runway." The model straightened, and secretly, Gilbert noted at he looked hotter like this: more confident, even if his face was still nervous.

"Oh, ma chérie aigre, why must you dwell on the bad things?"

"Why must you sexually harass me?"

"Why haven't you protested if you hate it so much, ohonhon?"

"Why haven't you left?" Gilbert broke in. Arthur scowled, and Francis blew them kisses as he dragged the sour Englishmen away. Matthew watched the couple meander away.

"Is he always like that?"

"Pretty much. Put your arms up?" Matthew raised his arks and his layers on shirts rose up. The designer made as though inspecting the waist, and his was horrible and Gilbert knew it, but in actuality, he was checking out Matthew's butt. Also, he had abs?! Sort of, at least. Faint outlines that made Gilbert swoon.

"Alright, folks, tomorrow, well be downtown tomorrow from 3 to 4, for rehearsals, but the show starts at 4:30. It's time for us to leave." Arthur called to the models.

Matthew, who was standing on a chair, hopped down. He gently peeled the sweater off, then the undershirt, then the shirt under that, and handed them to Gilbert, who was doing everything in his power not to drool. He grabbed his red sweatshirt and pulled it over his head, mussing his hair and putting his glasses off center. The expensive belt and jeans were dropped, to Matthew's embarrassment and Gilbert's delight. He pulled on his not expensive jeans and ratty converse.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?" The model said quietly. Gilbert blinked. And decided to take a risk.

"Oh, yeah. Um wait-" he tore a sheet out of his sketchbook (damn, he hated doing that.) and scribbled his phone number on it. "In case you have any questions."

"About what?" Matthew asked confused. It was a little amazing how much blushing that boy could do.

"About whether or not I'm free after the show. I am, by the way." Gilbert shooed a flabbergasted and horribly nervous Matthew out the door after Feliciano, who was clinging to his brother, who looked like he was confused about how to feel about this.

* * *

Gilbert actually didn't have to be there as early as Matthew. He got to the place where the show was being held and slipped backstage. But, as a student, and an unorganized one at that, Gilbert arrived late so that he just glimpsed Madame Bur giving a speech before some one ushered him to his front row seat.

Loud music filled the speakers and the lights dimmed. Different colored strobe lights flashed on the runway, and Michelle pranced down it, flaunting the gorgeous white dress and stilettos Francis had designed. His friend sat a few seats down from him and smiled as his model flawlessly worked his design, his arm around a still grumpy Arthur. The bronze skinned girl jumped a little, and the hem sparkled as she turned on her heel and sashayed down the runway.

Feliciano was next, and Lovino, who was sitting on Gilbert's right put his head in his lap as his brother skipped down the aisle, looking very cute in the outfit Ludwig had designed. Gilbert noticed that behind his innocent act, the Italian was actually walking in a way that made his butt wiggle a little. Thinking back, so had Michelle, actually. Were all models taught to walk sexily?

And with Antonio in his half leather half sweatshirt concoction of the now covertly drooling Italian next to him, Gilbert concluded, that all models were taught to walk sexily. Antonio winked at the crowd (Lovino), then returned to the dressing room place.

As the show went on, Gilbert saw all of his friends models strut down the runway and as it got later, he wondered where Matthew was. Then, there he was, hat pulled over his blonde curls, jeans clinging in ways Gilbert hadn't noticed before and glasses making the outfit _just_ right. His hips swung, and there was no trace of a blush on his face as he made Gilbert's outfit a lot hotter than it was intended to be. The blonde's features were schooled into a haughty smirk, and when his glance landed down on Gilbert, he winked. The motherfucker **_winked_**. The shy, adorable, cutie **_winked_**. Oh the injustice.

Matthew turned out to be the last model, (best for last, anyone?) and Gilbert hurried backstage to congratulate him and receive his grade. His actually ended uo getting the latter first; his ran smack into Madame Bur, who smiled and handed him a paper, which he glanced at. 39/40, one point taken off for the unscripted addition if the hat, but what the hell, it was brilliant anyway. Gilbert ducked and weabed through the hordes of people backstage, until he reached the curly blonde mop he was looking for.

"Mattie! That was totally awesome! I didn't know I had it in you!" The model blushed.

"Me either. Thanks, but it was really just the design."

"You were so shy yesterday, I didn't think you'd go up there and _fucking kill it_!"

"You liked it?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Want to see something else?" What the hell? Matthew figured, he's gotta be interested, he asked himself out yesterday for me.

"If it's anything like that, I'd be totally blown away." Matthew grasped the (no doubt expensive) hem of Gilbert's shirt and fitted their mouths together, teeth banging in the process. It was sloppy and kind of messy, but it was wonderful, they both agreed afterwards, as they broke for air.

"Hey Gilbert?"

"Yeah Mattie?"

"I'm free after this too."


	9. Prucan: Bar

**Okay, I actually really didn't know what to write for this one. **

**Thanks for the reviews. I really super like those lots. So more maybe?**

**All the drinks can be found at , if any of these things sound good to all of you of age. I'm not.**

**Sassy Mattie.**

**I DO NOt own Hetalia (pain voice from Hercules)(which I also don't own)**

* * *

"You come here often?"

"I work here. But you know that. And come here often." Matthew, in his faithful role as bartender hadn't even looked up from deftly adding absinthe and chocolate liqueur, a splash of hazelnut liqueur and creme of cacao to a steel mixer. He shook it skillfully and poured the concoction into 3 shot glasses, handing them off to a trio of shockingly similar but different looking dark hair. The Canadian pushed his blonde hair out of his violet eyes.

"Also, that was a horrible pick up line. Truly." The same albino man who was here almost every night was perched on a slightly unstable barstool in his usual spot. Matthew was starting to think the man might be a bit of an alcoholic.

"I'll have 2 of the 3rd one." A grumpy Italian man interrupted from out of no where. Matthew nodded and accepted the crumpled bills. Citron vodka, melon liqueur , peach liqueur , pineapple juice,peach schnapps, went into a shaker over ice, and Matthew divided the green contents into 2 shot glasses, which he handed to the man.

"I know him." The irritating customer informed the blonde man. "Dating my friend Tonio, but i don't know what he sees in the little bastard." Said little bastard glared at the albino, seemingly German man as he delivered the shot to another man who waved gleefully at the source of Matthew's impending headache.

"Look, are you going to get anything, Mr...?" Honestly, matthew wasn't usually so short with customers, but this one was really getting on his nerves and URGH! He'd just had enough.

"Gilbert Bielschmidt. But you can call me God. I'm not picky." Matthew rolled his eyes. Arthur, Matthew's brothers boyfriend, approached the bar.

"Hello Matthew." He cast a disdainful look at Gilbert. "Hello, Gilbert. You're brother's in the back with Feliciano." So they knew each other.

"When is he not?"

"For once, you're actually right. Matthew, if you don't mind, I'll have number 16." He pushed a few dollars to the bartender. The blonde Canadian raised his eyebrows.

"What'd my brother do now?" He asked, pouring the Irish creme and butterscotch schnapps into a shot glass, swirling the mixture around.

"I'm not sure you want to know." the Brit knocked back the shot he was given and stood up, already swaying. He wasn't very good at holding his liquor. He left, apparently seeking out someone to ease the pain of whatever stupid shit Alfred had done.

"How long you been working here?" Gilbert said abruptly, forcing his way back into the conversation. Matthew groaned loudly, taking another order for 3 cocktails from the before mentioned trio. Rum, orange juice and a chunk of mango that he nearly cut his finger off over, trying to separate it while distracted.

"Why do you want to know, eh?! Because, you're not taking me home tonight, or tomorrow night, or Friday night. Or ever." Matthew growled. The albino raised his eyebrows.

"Who ever said anything about that?" Matthew blinked.

"Can I have a number 4 and a number 2, please?" Tonio, from before asked, leaning over Gilbert's shoulders to deposit the money on the tabletop. "The number 4 is for Lovi. He's not a huge fan of your brother, Gil! Or You. Oh hey, is this the guy-" but a hand was clamped of the over active mouth as Matthew obliviously mixed cold Jaegermeister herbal liqueur and cold peppermint liqueur, handing the icy glass to the hyper Spaniard who ducked away from Gilbert's hand pressed against his mouth.

"Ah thanks! I know Lovi will love it. Then...the number 4?"

"Working on it. " Tabasco sauce and scotch whiskey. Strange combination, stranger name. Matthew slid the shot glass across the slippery bar, some of the strange concoction spilling out.

"Gracias! See you later, mi amigo." The Canadian watched his retreating back.

"Was he drunk?" He asked Gilbert, resorting to speaking to the infuriating man to get information. And company. But mostly information.

"No, he's always like that. Antonio is awesome." The German declared, diggint into his jeans (black, Matthew noticed; they fit him well. Wait. What?! No!) and pulling out a wallet with a black and white eagle on it. He tossed a few bills to the bartender.

"Can I have a number 9? And one number 17, for you though." He asked. Matthew rolled his eyes at the drink name.

"Smooth, but I can't drink at work. " He put handfuls of ice into a highball glass, with vodka and kahula. He skillfully added milk and a splash of Jaegermeister.

"Aww but it's true. Your eyes are kinda purply though." He exchanged the paper money for the drink. It was diluted, and had vodka in it, which he hated on the principle that it was Russian, but still... Not horrible. He downed half of it, feeling the alchol buzzing through his veins. A splatter of crimson colored the bartender's face, although he would refuse to admit it later.

"Um... Thanks. I think. But n-no flirting. I need to work." His protests were weak,and as he mixed up drink after drink, taking pay, accepting tips, Matthew found himself talking back to the 'White German'.

"Really? People dont see you very often? How can they miss you?" Matthew flushed bright red at Gilbert's comment. It was nearly midnight, and Matthew was about to go home, but he lingered behind the bar.

"Well, I mean, we look alike so..." Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Tell your brother he's hot. Hey Mattie, wanna make me something?"

"I've been making you drinks all evening."

"Nah, make me your favorite. I wanna try it." Matthew raised his eyebrows and pushed back his blonde curls, gnawing on his lips thoughtfully. Then, he grabbed 2 shot glasses and poured rum and butterscotch schnapps into the shaker. The concoction was divided between the glasses, and he downed his easily.

"'Maple Syrup', huh?" Gilbert asked, taking a tiny sip out of the tiny glass.

"Oh, yeah, well... I like maple syrup." Gilbert laughed.

"Evidently." His face took on a mock serious look And he pulled a wad of cash from his wallet. "Sir, I'd like a number 24, please." Matthew glanced at the name and rose his eyebrows, flirting and a tiny bit tipsy.

"'Canadian kiss'?"

"As many as $10 can buy."

"Oh, I don't think that'll be nessecary." Matthew smirked, and leaned over the counter, locking lips with the albino customer. Gilbert moaned low in delight, and deepened the kiss, grabbing Matthew's uniform and pulling him nearer. A few seconds later they broke.

"And people say alcohol is bad." Gilbert whined, leaning forward for another number 24.

* * *

**TO BE CLEAR: alcohol in moderation is not bad. I don't agree with Gilberts everyday bar trips, I just think he'd do it. **

**ARTHUR ORDERED: Cowboy C*cksucker (after a fight with America, I feel this would appeal to him.)**

**LOVINO ORDERED: Fear the Turtle, (For Antonio) and Dead Nazi (because he hates Ludwig)**

**ANTONIO ORDERED: Sexaholic. (He is, in my opinion)**

**GILBERT ORDERED: White German, (fitting) and Blue eyed Blonde (for Matthew, who turned it down)**


	10. Spamano: Hogwarts

**This one's a go to for fanfiction writers for AUs but I'm seriously stuck and I need to update. Any ideas? Pairings? Anything? Anyway, I love Harry potter, but haven't read or watched it in awhile. I should theoretically be updating more often now that schools out but... **

**This ones spamano cus in my opinion there's way too much USUK pottertalia. Don't get me wrong I like the pairing and ALFRED IS SUCH A CUTIE OMFG but I need spamano.**

**Anyway, if I owned hetalia it would be nothing but badly drawn smut. Is it? No. So there we go. **

* * *

When Lovino Vargas put on the sorting hat it didn't know where he was going to go. It was leaning towards Slytherin, the piece of cloth informed him but the dark haired kid shook his head violently. 'Not Slytherin. Please.' He begged, which he would never admit to. 'Then where?' The hat hissed in his brain. 'You're not brave, you're not wise, you're not loyal. You don't belong anywhere, young Lovino.' The Vargas twin felt tears pricking his eyes. 'I know! Just... Put me with Feli. Please.' A sigh resounded through his mind.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The damned hat proclaimed, sending Lovino somewhere he would never fit in. Truly, Slytherin would have been the ideal choice for the Italian child, but Lovino seemed resistant, so it was the only option. And as the yellow clad students cheered when the boy walked to the table, Lovino put it in his head to be the best Hufflepuff he could be.

And three years later, it was proving difficult for him. He'd tried to be nice, innocent, sweet like his brother, but he simply wasn't very good at it. His brother Feliciano was so nice and cute and people fell all over the younger twin. Like the potato bastard Ludwig, who pretended not to. And the creepy Asian kid with the camera. Kiku? Who even knows. And it had never bothered Lovino before going to Hogwarts that people generally found Feliciano cuter. It hadn't really bothered him much even AT Hogwarts.

But staring at a mass of curly brown hair in Charms class, Lovino was wishing he was cuter. The chocolate curls belonged to one Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, a Slytherin that had been pestering Lovino from the moment they ran into on the Hogwarts express last August.

It was December now, a few days left until break started and Lovino was working on seducing the stupid Spaniard. Feliciano was fairly certain that his feelings were mutual, and had informed his brother of this, but every time Lovino made a move, the oblivious Slytherin _just didn't get the fucking hint._ So Lovino was going big, then going home for the holidays. His note in his hand, his eyes on the muggle wristwatch on Feliciano's pale arm. The electronic number changed to 5:29, a minute before dinner started.

Short wand in hand, Lovino muttered the incantation, Wingardium leviosa, watching the parchment lift into the air. He mentally (and manly) squealed. His plan was going- and then the note hit the back of the wrong head.

Matthew Williams-Jones flinched as the parchment came into contact with his skull. The Hufflepuff turned around, trying to not let go of his boyfriend, Gilbert's, hand under the desk as he attempted to snatch the note out of mid air. Unfortunately, the albino Slytherin noticed his awkward contortions and grabbed the note for him, frowning at the lettering, and then leering at the note. Lovino finished his mental suicide plans.

"Sorry hun, but I gotta say, I like Mattie way better than your cranky ass, Vargas." Gilbert winked at Lovino. He gritted his teeth. "And wouldn't Antonio be upset that his little tomatito was hitting on a man with a super cute boyfriend?" Matthew was progressively turning shades of red. Lovino was progressively turning shades of pissed.

"Gil, stop. I don't think he meant it To be for you." Matthew quietly discouraged his boyfriend. By this point, Antonio was curiously looking over to the commotion. The note had landed three seats too far left. the parchment had forgone hitting Antonio, swept past Francis (thankfully) and Gilbert (sort of) and hit the albinos shy boyfriend.

"Unless I should give it to him." Gilbert refolded the paper with mocking precision before tossing it to his friend. Antonio caught it and read it. He looked up to tell Lovino his answer, but the little Italian had already left with majority of their class as professor Flitwick dismissed them.

"Idiota stronzo! So close!" Lovino mumbled to himself, halfway to the Hufflepuff common room, black and yellow robes billowing behind him.

"Mi! Tom-Tomatito!" A familiar voice rang out behind the Italian. The older twin pled his robes tighter around himself, trying to hide his red face. "Lovino! Wait!" The footsteps grew louder and a strong arm wrapped around his torso.

"What do you want, bastardo? Here to make fun of me?"

"Fun of you? Why would I do that? I wanted to ask if you were serious about this. Because I'm in the mood for some tomatoes now, and we could go down to the kitchens and get some...?"

"If you're messing with me, you can give up any dreams about starting a family." Lovino muttered, allowing an arm around his waist. Antonio laughed.

"Silly tomate, men can't have babies."

"No shit, bastardo! I meant with a girl, or something." the Slytherin's green eyes filled with confusion.

"You're not a girl, Lovino."

"I-I know that!"

"So I don't think that was an option anyway." Lovino quirked an eyebrow.

"What do you mean then?"

"You said I could give up any dreams of starting a family. The only one I want is with you. And we can't have kids! So it wasn't an option." The Italian's face grew hot. He stopped walking. His companion kept going, then turned. He had the decency to at least look embarrassed.

"Ah, Lovi, I'm sorry. That was so forward." Lovino took 3 shaky steps towards Antonio. "I'm sorry Lovi. " The Hufflepuff grabbed a handful of Slytherin tie and yanked the other boy's face to his own.

"You idiot." He whispered, then fit their mouths together in a sweet kiss. Antonio responded immediately, his arms wrapping around the smaller man. A wolf whistle was successfully beaten out of Gilbert by his boyfriend. Sickles and galleons passed from money bag to money bag. But they didn't need to know about that.

* * *

**Sorry that was horrific. Do nyotalia and 2p count as AUs? Please review! I need ideas and pairings!**


	11. SuFin: Ice Cream

**Okay so i recently got a request for a Nordics thing. I know little to nothing about them. But I love me some SuFin. And, with a new ice cream shop that I'm obsessed with, what else would I write about?**

**Ever read Inspired by P0ck3tF0x? That is the best thing ever put out god damn. I'd like to do something like it. Maybe. I also want to finish my grease AU and travel Europe but whatever.**

**SUFIN! I did a lot of research with this one. (I read a shit ton of sufin)**

**Also, requests are still welcome. I thought I started on another but I guess not.**

**I don't own anything. Seriously. Just the Ice Cream Shop namE.**

**_Sweden-Ingrid Oxenstierna_**

**_Denmark: Clara_****_ Kohler_**

**_Norway: Liv Bondevik_**

**_Finland- Taika Vainamoinen_**

* * *

Ice cream shops have a distinctive smell. Like chocolate and waffle cones and happiness. They usually were brightly lit and full of chattering people nursing sticky bowls and cones.

South Pole Sweets was no different. Filled with happy chattering people, cheerful happy clerks who just loved their job-who wouldn't? The only thing different about South Pole was the smell. It was new, so the smell of drywall and just-dry paint mingles with the scent of laughter and wafflecones.

At least, that was what Ingrid Oxenstierna thought when she first stepped into the little shop. If she looked closely she could see the rough edges. Plastic still covering the screen of the register, the blackboard still unused. It was a pretty little shop, well designed with nice furniture,(she'd had something of a furniture kink for as long as she was willing to admit) and the room glowed.

The tall blonde adjusted her glasses and peered into the glass case full of ice cream. The flavors all had somewhat strange country names. Her blue eyes scanned the tiny hand printed name tags. Nutty Netherlands, American Carmel Apple, English butter toffee, Swiss chocolate, and then- her eyes narrowed in amusement. Swedish fish. How in the world could anyone make that into an ice cream? It was too good an opportunity to pass up. So, clearing her throat Ingrid motioned to an employee.

"Hey. You there." A girl with blonde hair and brown eyes looked over from where she was idly chatting with a customer. Ingrid suddenly didn't know what to say. This girl was gorgeous. "I-I can um..." She pointed to the Swedish fish ice cream. The girl bounded over. Her blue and purple name tag had 'Taika' spelled out in curly letters.

"Oh you want this one?" Ingrid nodded feeling stupid. Great, now the Taika would think she's an idiot. "How many scoops?"

"2." The Swedish woman's accent kind of mangled the word. But it was harder to understand Taika. The smaller blonde nodded before grabbing a scoop and gesturing.

"Come or Dish?" Who knew ordering ice cream could be so stressful?

"Dish." Apparently Ingrid's stoic expression and minimalistic answers were starting to freak Taika out. Her smiling face changed to something slightly more... Frightened. And Ingrid could've sworn she'd seen her arm shake while scooping ice cream. But that could've been her imagination.

"That'll be $3.45." Nope. Taika's voice was definitely scared. Something inside of Ingrid died a bit. Oh. She scooped the necessary cash out of her wallet. And a little extra.

"Thank you." Ingrid had to leave a good impression, she decided, adding the extra cash to the tips bin. Taika was evidently not swayed, though, as he posture remained stiff and Ingrid was so, so mad at herself, because, of course, the beautiful girl _would_ be terrified of her.

* * *

Determined not to scare the shit out of Taika the next time they met, Ingrid returned to the ice cream shop the day after. (Which, honestly, seems a but excessive but whatever.) the taller blonde was nervous, as though for a date. Theoretically. Ingrid had a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. She was pretty sure she was a lesbian though. Never had a crush on a guy. Only girls.

The Swedish immigrant fussed in front of her small, industrial mirror. Did she look scary with her hair like this? Were her glasses too intimidating? Ingrid sat on her bed, sighing. She didn't know anything about this. Deciding she'd need help, Ingrid dialed 1 of the 5 numbers on her phone.

"I need your help." She told Liv Bondevik as soon as her long time friend answered, not bothering with a greeting.

"With what?" The swede could hear a 'Who's that?' From Liv's somewhat obnoxious girlfriend, Clara. The Norwegian girl mumbled out an explanation. With a loud shriek, the scuffle of hardwood against the phone's mic, and the scraping of eager fingers, Ingrid found herself no longer talking to Liv.

"If I wanted your advice I would've called you." She explained to Clara. Her frown was evident over the phone, as was Clara's mock hurt pout.

"Aww. So you do have a crush. What's she like?"

"I want to talk to Liv."

"I'm sitting on her head." Insert demonic leer here. "And not in the fun way." A muffled screech of anger confirmed Clara's statement.

"Liv."

"How'd you meet this girl? Is she cute? Are you two already dating?"

"I want to talk to Liv."

"Too bad you just have me. Answer the questions Sve."

"Liv."

"No."

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Ouch."

"I'm hanging up."

"We'll be over at your house in ten minutes." The Danish girl snipped back and hung up before Ingrid had time to actually follow through on her threat. The blonde laid on her bed, knowing it was only a matter of time until the worst nightmare of 7 relationship counselors- and counting- arrived at her house and subsequently broke all her nice furniture. And she didn't really want to tell Clara about Taika. When this all ended badly- oh it would- Clara would never. Shut. Up. About. It.

"Sve-Sve?" Dammit.

"That's not my name."

"That's a great song." She'd lost Ingrid.

"What?"

"You know,_ 'that's not my name, that's not my name_'." She sang off key. Ingrid rolled her eyes. She didn't actually, but whatever.

"Where's Liv?" Ingrid demanded and no less than 3 seconds had passed when Liv followed her more enthusiastic partner into the swede's bedroom.

"What did you need our help with?" Liv asked, sitting gingerly on the edge of the comforter, next to Ingrid.

"It's embarrassing."

"So you do have a crush!" Clara crowed triumphantly from Ingrid's drawers, were she was sifting through the clothing. "Damn, you have boring clothes."

"Get out of there. And... Yeah." Liv raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Who?"

"She works at South Pole Sweets."

"Yeah but who?"

"Taika." More raised arches, all around.

"Really? Taika? She's so sweet and pretty and you're so-" Clara stopped when she saw the glare on the other blonde girl's face.

"She's scared of me."

"Probably." The couple agreed in unison.

"What should I wear?" Ingrid changed the subject, not liking how apparently everyone thought she was scary. Clara continued rumpling her nice folded clothes. She threw a vest and long pants to the swede who looked at it warily. A white beret and heeled boots were thrown after that, and a white clip as an after thought.

"It's summer."

"No shit. Put it on." Clara rolled her eyes.

"Leave my room."

"Why? We're all lesbians here!"

"Exactly."

* * *

And that was how Ingrid found herself standing in front of the shining new South Pole Scoops, dressed in an outfit that she thought made her look like a soldier, but Clara insisted that it 'showed off your giant knockers'. Yeah.

She took a deep breath and strode inside. To her delight, Taika was idly washing an ice cream scoops and not busy at all. The small girl looked up when the bell on the door rang with Ingrid's entrance. Their eyes locked and a flurry of emotions overcame Taika's face, she finally settled on a nervous smile.

"Welcome to South Pole Sweets what can I get for you today?" She chirruped. Ingrid surveyed the case.

"What do you suggest?" the Swede asked, surprising herself. Taika looked taken aback.

"Oh! Well... I like American Carmel Apple, and um," she glanced shyly at the taller woman. "Swedish fish. But you had that last time you were here... Right?" Ingrid blinked in surprise and nodded. She remembered?

"Yeah. Can I try that?" Taika nodded and took a tiny spoon.

"You know..." Ingrid chose her words carefully. "'Taika' isn't a very American name, for someone who likes the flavor." She was handed a small spoon and the smaller girl's eyes widened.

"Well... That's cus it's not! I mean, we moved to the states last year. Which is kind of crazy because it was kind of sudden, but it's okay, because I already knew a lot of English. Did you like it?" Taika seemed to talk quickly and impulsively, saying what she thought.

"Um yeah. Can I have 2 scoops. Cone. Please. Ingrid isn't American either. I moved here 3 years ago. From Sweden."

"Isn't it crazy that we met though? Not a whole lot of people in America are like, direct immigrants, you know? And both of us from Nordic countries!" Taika's laughter was becoming-dare she hope- less forced as she scooped the ice cream. "I know some other people that live over here, from Nordic countries. It's so weird! I should introduce you after this." Taika froze very suddenly. "I mean. If you want?" She handed the cone to Ingrid, who attempted to smile softly.

"I'd like that a lot."

"Ok, that'll be $2.50!" Ingrid paused licking the cone.

"Wasn't it more yesterday?"

"I used my employee discount. Hope you don't mind. I'm not sure why you would but..." Another smile from Ingrid.

"Thanks."

"If you want, you can eat over there, then we can meet my friends? I get off in 3 minutes." Ingrid nodded. And when the pair left to meet the friends that, coincidentally, Ingrid had gotten fashion advice from earlier, Taika grabbed Ingrid's hands and intertwined their fingers as she was walked home.

_**REVIEWS ARE THE BEST! Got any ideas? Need help? Like to talk? I'm here!**_


	12. Prucan: Essay

** chapter isn't really a AU, per say, but it's a prompt kind of thing. Based on the quote 'better to have loved and lost than never loved at all.' **

**_WOW 2 UPDATES IN ONE DAY GO MISS PAGE!_**

**_MORAL QUESTION HERE: so I know I ask for pairings and ideas all the time, but... What happens if I get a pairing that I don't like. Or is my fucknotp? Or I didn't know existed and now that I do wish I didn't? I feel rude ignoring the requests, but I can't imagine some of the pairings. Like what am I supposed to do? For reals yo I need an answer. So... PM me maybe? Please. _**

**Also, did anyone like the idea of me doing a inspired type fic? Like with different pairings probably.**

**I still don't own Hetalia. I know, I'm shocked too. **

* * *

Matthew tapped the eraser of the mechanical pencil against his lips. The notebook in front of him was still blank, his essay still unwritten. Violet eyes behind glasses read the prompt sheet his English teacher had given him for the 7810138839292nd time. Ms. Hedervary was a lot more sadistic than he'd thought, huh?

the iPhone on the desk next to him bizzed to life and Matthew swiped it open. 4 new messages from his best friend/ sort of secret crush Gilbert. He snorted when he saw the messages.

_Hey birdie_

_Can i come over? Ludi is making out with Feli. Loudly._

_Holy fuck this is creePy. _

_They r going upstairs ill be over in like 3 minutes._

And as soon as he began to type out a reply, a loud crash sounded downstairs accompanied with a shriek of 'BIRDIE!' Matthew laughed quietly, and took his homework with his downstairs. He headed into the den and found his friend shaking on a beanbag.

"Biiiirrrrddddiiiiieeeeee." Gilbert moaned. "That was sooooo fuuuckkkkingggg traumaticccccc." Matthew hovered over his friends body, patting his shoulder awkardly until he was pulled down onto the beanbag with Gilbert with an 'oomf!'

"Gil, you can stay here, but I have to work on an essay, ok?"

"Ja, ja. Can I get something to drink?"

"You know you can. No beer though. You have to wait another year." Matthew called to Gilbert, who had now moved to the kitchen.

"Urgh! Stupid Canada! Germany's got the right idea, 14 is the legal drinking age there, did you know that? Damn, I wish I was back home." Matthew did know 14 was the legal drinking age in Germany, Gilbert had told him that the second they'd became friends, just after Gilbert had moved from Germany.

"Don't insult Canada Gil!" Gilbert mocked Matthews sentence in a voice he didn't think Matthew could hear as he returned with Gatorade. He was wrong, but Matthew didn't say anything. He just stretched out on the carpet with his notebook and his pencil tucked behind an ear. A purple gatorade narrowly missed his head, and Gilbert flopped down next to him.

"Whatcha writing?"

"Essay."

"Nah, you haven't even started it yet. What teacher?" Gilbert snatched up the prompt sheet. "God i hate these. What week are you on?"

"Week 8. I don't know what to write." Matthew flipped onto his back amd uncapped his Gatorade and took a sip.

"With my awesome help, you'll totally get the best grade ever!" Matthew rolled his eyes.

"So what do you suggest I write, oh great and knowledgeable Lehrer?" Gilbert flushed. He loved it when Mattie spoke in German.

"Oh. Well, think about it this way. The question is asking if the unawesome things about love are worth it. The breakups, the cheating, the unrequited love, the problems with dating and relationships - would it be better to just never fall in love? To me, I think its worth it. Go for it. You never know what you can have until you your heart broken." Oh god, the hypocrisy! Here he was, sitting next to the man of his dreams, preaching about lost love and going for it, which is what he had ACTIVELY NOT DONE for the past like, four years.

Next to him, Matthew was breathless. Go for it, Gilbert's voice urged him, You never know what you can have until you ask. And Matthew doesn't ask. He just leaned over and kissed his best friend on the mouth. To Matthew's shock, Gilbert wound them together, deepening the kiss and embracing the blonde boy. Their kisses were heated and passionate and everything that hadn't bent here for 3 years.

Eventually they broke and Matthew grinned at Gilbert.

"I can do the essay tomorrow in study hall." Gilbert leered and pounced on his friend.

**_So yeah. Read my first authors note and respond please. I don't know what go do._**


	13. Edelweiss: Fortune Teller

**Well then. I wrote a stupid little one shot instead of updating this. Also, I can't come up with a name for my '****Inspired'**** inspired fic. So while I have a few chapters written for that, no title. Yeah. That's not gonna exist for a while probably. **

**Alrighty. So y'all probably ship AustriaxHungary. Which is great im not hating on your ships. Probably think it's the cutest thing since **** kittens. I used to, too. But I have seen the light. And also the ask edelweiss blog which is my life blood. For real. Look it up if you don't ship it. Or skip this chapter. Because I love love love love AustriaxSwitzerland. Love it.**

**This is in the same AU as like, my second chapter. There will be **

**No one should ever make the mistake of letting me own hetalia. EVER.**

* * *

"Lili, this is stupid." Vash Zwingli protested as his little sister dragged him behind carnival tents. Her pink skirt flowed behind her as she wove between the brightly colored fabrics.

"Please big brother? I just wanna see the fortune teller, then we can go look at the other things." The Swiss man frowned, glancing at his watch, almost being led into a pole as Lili continued to dart through the tents.

"I thought you wanted to see the acrobats? Will we have time?" This is ridiculous, Vash thought, I'm too old for carnivals. Just silly kid stuff. Especially this fortune teller nonsense. He almost ran straight in to Lili, who had stopped right in front of a dark purple tent with the sign 'Milosh the Mystic' in curling gold letters staked in front of it.

"We'll have plenty of time. Come on! It'll be fun!" Vash's little sister wasn't even related by blood, but when she turned those enormous green eyes on him, looking more like 7 than 17, then, well... How could he refuse? He sighed and she smiled, and tugged his arm, leading them both past the flaps of the purple tent. Vash's calloused fingers brushed the fabric. Velvety. What fool used velvet for a _tent_. Now the blonde wanted to meet this stupid swindler.

"One at a time please." A distinctly not English (or Romani/Gypsy, Vash thought) voice called giggled and shuffled forward, beyond a second set of velvet flaps. Hushed voices and mystic lighting seeped out before they shut. Vash was almost curious to meet this 'Milosh'. After a few moments, he heard a loud giggle that was distinctly his sisters, and the same loud, somewhat snooty voice beckoned the Swiss man into the next room.

The man that sat in front of the blonde had a turban, and chocolatey brown hair poking out from underneath it and some sort of robes, all different shade of purple to match- holy shit his 'Milosh' had gorgeous eyes. Lavender. Who had purple eyes? Vash's first thought was that they had to be contacts, but the fortune-teller was wearing glasses over them.

"What kind of seer needs glasses?" Was his first question to the mystic, who looked up from shuffling his tarot cards. His-extraordinary- violet eyes narrowed.

"What kind of nonbeliever sees a fortune teller?" He shot back.

"The kind who's sister is too cute for her own good." The blonde man growled, he didn't think 'Milosh' would hear him. But he did, and nodded, chuckling.

"She is quite adorable." And instantly Vash's overprotective brother/ Rottweiler senses and he may have growled at the clairvoyant, who chuckled and put up his hands in surrender. "Don't get the wrong idea. I don't swing that way. Women are so much work." Vash secretly agreed and backed down.

'Milosh' flipped the cards, then lay them face down in a line, flipping one by one. His card tricks that he apparently did unconsciously were fascinating sure, but Lili wanted to catch the 'Wiredancers' and Big Cats show that this carnival was famous for. Vash sat in the wooden chair that was on the other side of the table that the fortune teller was sitting at. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

"Alright,'Milosh'," Vash's voice dripped sarcasm that was almost tangible. "Show me what you've got." The brunette's amethyst eyes narrowed and he smirked, the cards disappearing. Parlor tricks, Vash thought.

"Can I see your hand Vash?" The man asked. The blonde started.

"Why?" He ended up muttering.

"I'm going to read your palm." Vash reluctantly stuck out his pale arm and the other man's slim fingers traced the indentations on his hand, making him shiver involuntarily. The clairvoyant looked like he wanted to follow his fingers with his tongue. Vash probably wouldn't stop him.

"Let's see...I'm guessing that you think this is all a load of nonsense. You like science and math and probably money. You think clearly, none of this "magic" nonsense." Vash nodded.

"I could've told you that."

"That's the point my dear. You could've, but I've figured it out on my own. You're practical, responsible, but probably disgustingly stingy. You're self made, and madly possessive of your family. " Vash raised his eyebrow.

"Disgustingly stingy? I might just not be the type for velvet tents. Are you done yet?"

"Almost. Alright, you don't have much interest in romance do you? You're gay though, that I know. You're straightforward, no nonsense, but prefer not to pick fights. Your sexlife is nonexistent, Vash. You're alone. But not, I sense for long." The man looked up from where he had been studying the blonde's hand.

His skilled fingers (he could probably play prissy instruments, too, Vash thought) delicately closed his hand and brought it to his lips, staying like that for a few moments, as his words and his sinful tone had evidently cast a spell over Vash. When he regained his senses, the blonde yanked it away from the smirking man.

"That'll be $4." 'Milosh' purred. The Swiss man growled something about 'Damn swindling gypsies' and handed over the money. As he left the tent he remembered something and spun, his blonde fringe getting in his eyes. The clairvoyant looked smug.

"What is it Vash?"

"What's your real name 'Milosh'?" The sneer was evident but he was genuinely curious.

"Roderich. Roderich Edelstein."

* * *

"Wasn't he fantastic big brother?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"And he was very handsome too."

"He's gay." Vash told his sister bluntly. She blinked, then grinned.

"How do you know?"

"His number is on a card in my back pocket, and I haven't the faintest idea how it got there." Lili giggled and followed her brother to the acrobat tent, where she later left him making out with a certain phony fortune teller.

* * *

That was not as convincing as I wanted it to be. Whatever. REQUESTS WILL PROBABLY BE DONE! Reviews are excellent.


	14. Spamano: Dancer

**I love spamano. I really do.**

**I just wanted to write this. That's my only explanation. Also Im trying to compensate for my horribly awful edelweiss chapter. They're really cute! Really!**

**_Spain- Isabella Fernandez Carriedo_**

**_Romano- Rosanna Vargas_**

**_Italy- Francesca Vargas_**

**_Germany- Monika Bielschmidt_**

* * *

Rosanna didn't really like Spain. It was nice and all, sunny, with beautiful beaches and nice wine, but really, anything you can do in Spain, you can do in Italy*, without having to speak their dumb language. She only went along with her sister and her sister's dumb potato bitch girlfriend to make sure Francesca didn't get molested by the stupid German, but judging by the squeals that had kept her up, she was doing badly at.

When she had agreed to go on this stupid trip with Francesca and her girlfriend who was probably an ex-nazi or something, she hadn't realized how many annoyingly touristy things they'd be doing. They'd already been to Alhambra, La Sangrada Familia and Ibiza. Next week they'd be in Madrid, then Barcelona, then Rosanna would be home sweet home in gorgeous, non Spanish speaking Italy, while Francesca and Monika toured the rest of the fucking continent.

But for now they were staying in a picturesque little town called Estepona, which was on the beach, so while Francesca and her demonic lover bothered people there, Rosanna was looking for something to do that wasn't sleeping in the air conditioned suite. So far she'd wandered downstairs to the pool, read part of an English magazine, flirted with a hot Spanish bartender, then walked down the street to a bar by the beach. It was early, but Spanish and Italian people drank wine all day. It's in their nature.

As soon as Rosanna set foot inside the little building, she knew it was different from the other bar she'd been to in Spain so far. The lighting was low, and there seemed to be spotlights pointed on a stage, where a man with fluffy brown hair sat, strumming a guitar. Curious, the Italian girl sat at an empty table near the stage. The man winked At her and she scowled.

Then, out of nowhere, the music sped up, the sounds of castanets snapping rapidly filling the air and the guitarist going overtime. The music was beautiful, but it wasn't the first time Rosanna had heard flamenco in Spain, so she wasn't impressed until the dancer stomped onto stage.

The Italian girl wouldn't realize until later that the woman who danced was herself beautiful, all she saw, was the twirling of her long black skirt, and the flash of a red rose in her hair and a glimpse of long, gorgeous tan legs as she stomped and whirled and clapped. This dancer, this woman, she was hypnotizing. Her short black heels tapped out an impossible rhythm in time with the smiling guitarist, who shouted and sang in Spanish from time to time. Rosanna understood only some of his words, but she caught '¡Vaya!' and '¡Andale, Andale!'. What did he _mean_ come along? This gorgeous dancer was doing perfectly! Her bronze, sculpted arms swished her black ruffled skirt and moved with fluidity that Rosanna could only imagine posessing.

She spun and shook her hips, stomped and flourished her arms, all the while snapping and clapping and steadily clicking out a beat with her shoes. The man in the corner picked up the pace, shouting another '¡Vaya!' at her, and she whirled faster and faster, until the separate cracks of her heels against the tarnish wood swirled together in one beautiful symphony of what any mentions of Spain would ever remind Rosanna of.

The guitarist's hands now just tapped rapidly against the strings of the instrument, and the dancer's steady pirouettes were growing steadily slower and the stomps of her heels were becoming distinguishable from each other, until they slowed to just a picture perfect beautiful woman standing with one hand on her slim hips and the other clutching a fan that was angled artfully above her head, her black clad chest heaving.

The grumpy Italian woman didn't clap, so maybe she looked rude, but currently, Rosanna's mind was too distracted, trying to figure out how to meet this goddess who had just performed. A sneaky voice in the back of her head that sounded like the potato bitch told her to just go talk to him, gottverdammt. Yep. Definitely the potato bitch. So Rosanna just scowled and crossed her arms, watching the Spanish woman walk off he stage.

"What's her name?" She asked to nobody. The guitarist smiled.

"Isabella. So you did like her dancing?" It wasn't really a question, but Rosanna nodded anyway. "You should tell her." The man stood up, closing his guitar in a case.

Rosanna waved at a bartender, ordering the man a shot in thanks. He winked and she stood up her wedges making loud_ clump clump clump_ sounds as she strode across the stage where Isabella had whirled only minutes before. She entered the wooden door that the Spanish woman had before her. Another wooden door had 'Isabella' scrawled across it in chalk, with a smiley tomato thing under it.

Rosanna's hand hovered over the rickety door. Then, a mental image of the beautiful dancer made up her mind, and three sharp raps punctuated the silence.

"¿Hola?" Right, Isabella was Spanish. She would speak it. Rosanna swore in Italian. Her perfunctory Spanish skills would not win her the heart of the gorgeous dancer. A tanned face poked out of he room at her, and spoke in near flawless Italian;

"Hello? Were you looking for me?" Rosanna blinked stupidly and blushed.

"Ah- yes... Your performance... Was pretty good. I mean it- it- it was really... Wow." She stated dumbly. Two strong arms wrapped around her.

"Wow you really liked it? I'm so happy! You're blushing so cute! Like a little tomato!" Isabella may be beautiful, but apparently also very irritating. She let go.

"Uh.. I'm not a fucking tomato. Or cute." Rosanna mumbled, a little out there. Isabella laughed airily, and Rosanna noticed now that she had changed into sweats.

"Oh but you are!" Isabella grabbed Rosanna's baby chubby cheeks. "So cute!" Her grip released and she stepped back. "I'm so rude! Los siento! I'm Isabella Fernandez Carriedo!"

"I'm Rosanna Vargas." Rosanna mumbled, blushing still. Who knew that such a beautiful and poised dancer could be such a moron?

"Well Rosanna, can I buy you a drink?"

"A drink?"

"Sí, a drink. Like alcohol?" The grumpy Italian furrowed her brow she was confused.

"Why?"

"Cus you're cute, Rosa!"

"Don't call me that. And I can't. I'm supposed to be meeting my sister and her bitch-ass girlfriend at tThe beach." Rosanna was making excuses. Even the spacey Spanish woman must have known that. Amd it wasn't like she didn't like Isabella. The woman was gorgeous and apparently very interested in her. But she was also slight crazy.

"That's ok! I can come with you! I'd love to meet your sister!"

* * *

"Hola! You must be Francesca and uh... I don't know your name. Rosa calls you potato bitch but I'm not sure that's very polite."

"Monika." Monika sighed, her arms crossed.

"Ciao! But, uh who are you?" Francesca asked from her perch in Monika's shoulders.

"I'm Rosanna's girlfriend!"

"When the fuck did we decide this?!"

* * *

_**Sorry. Reviews? Requests ideas for the damn inspired fic?**_


End file.
